Communist Daughter

My favorite song off the infamous In the Aeroplane Over the Sea is Communist Daughter.

What dominates is its ocean waves sample. The waves to drown out the complete destruction of ideals, perhaps. Reframes it all, if anything. Even if one could have a Proper Interpretation about war and its destructiveness, drench the lyrics in a Factual Reflection.

Instead one may see a lithe dancer along the waves, radiating a sensuality so often supercharged yet the lyrics paint it indifferently. It’s an ethereal, remote description as-it-could crudeness waiting of union, accompanied by a fantastical world. A fantastical world often inaccessible to most if not all of humanity; what do you see when you close your eyes? A contrast of a pure materialist devotion against the strange universe we’re suspended in.

How can one look up at the clouded spectacle while a nymph waits for you? Beauty reduced to the sully.

But that’s the point, I think.

How our flesh’d devotions diminish against the fantastic; background noise while the waves swallow everything. Waves eternal rest along, move around pending destruction, repurposed into a new nebula. Our purpled seaside. I pick up tombs of Greek tragedies and think about how Foucault was so devout because of his allure to beautiful classmates — how much of this is divine facsimile indeed? Do we have the courage to abandon it all and watch the clouds dance, alone?

One can feel the peace if you surrender, surrender beyond our delusions and promise of love; though in a traditional lens “corrupted” as is emphasized by the “communist” dream, even in its decay the perfect alternative seems to lend the same fate: a trade to plant in a flimsy shore, sink into the emptiness as form. Cirrus bands of otherworldly promise dissipate; unboarded nimbus departing.

May instead all one want to hear are the waves, and maybe they’ll swallow everyone else too. Granted peace, for that’s all that’s needed; cast away the pending sorrows of every touch.

To turn into sand. Melt into the landscape, away from the trifles of existence.

Let the bombs erase everything.